


Taron Egerton x Reader - Dyna Fy Siaced

by gingersnaptaff



Category: British Actor RPF, Kingsman (Movies) RPF, Rocketman (2019) RPF, Welsh Actor RPF
Genre: F/M, I wrote this when I was super depressed and I’m only posting now cuz I can bear to look at it again, My welsh gcse gets put to use and by use I mean welsh swears, Once again I am back on my welsh actor fanfic bullshit, Tom and Iwan are supposed to be Tom Rhys-Harries and Iwan Rheon respectively, aber could be a character by itself and god that town would deserve it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:15:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29013423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingersnaptaff/pseuds/gingersnaptaff
Summary: It’s Vodka Tuesday and - as any self-respecting uni student would do - you’re out for a night on the town! If only you hadn’t taken that spare seat at the bar.
Relationships: Taron Egerton/Original Female Character(s), Taron Egerton/Reader, Taron Egerton/You
Kudos: 3





	Taron Egerton x Reader - Dyna Fy Siaced

**Author's Note:**

> This is inspired by the fact that I once accidentally sat in Taron Egerton’s chair at a pub during my time in uni.  
> I have never lived it down since.  
> (And yes his jacket was that soft and he was super chill.)

The pub is cheerfully lit and packed with people.

It’s a Tuesday and that means two things: cheap vodka and university socials and there is a mixture of people all hemmed in at the bar, desperate for a drink and a bag of crisps. 

  
Patrons that are there for a quiet one are tucked away, hidden near the doors or hunched down around tables, shrouded in shadows, with gleaming eyes and ruddy cheeks.

There are university students, yelling and japing with each other, hurrying for any chairs that might be available like some deranged game of musical chairs. 

  
There are rugby lads clad in pretty satin dresses and synthetic haired blonde wigs, their defined muscles bunching under lacy sleeves, heel clad feet tapping loudly on the slate floor. 

  
There are drunk girls, hazy-eyed and laughing brightly, clustered around gauzily lit strobe lights as they sway to the music that you can dimly hear coming from the other room where other students desperate to release some steam and dance the night away flock to as though they are elephants at a watering hole, and the muffled thump of drumbeats is like the pub’s very own heartbeat. 

  
The occupants of said room are hidden from view by a door that is draped with some spanx-y looking black cloth that pops as though it has been cut from a novelty Halloween vampire cloak, and their laughter cuts through the din like the pealing of bells, if said bells were also accompanied by regular and jarring blasts of Robbie Williams’ hit (well, hit for 1997) song ‘ _Angels_ ’ and approximately forty very drunk English literature students raising their voices in unison like Aberystwyth’s very own shit choir.

  
Perfume and conversation thicken the air and you push your way through the knot of people that have clustered together near the bar. You hands touch soft dresses, sweet-smelling skin, and crisp white shirts and you apologise every time someone looks at you in askance. There is a seat furthest from the bar dark cloth draped over the back of it and you quicken your pace a little more – mindful of not stepping on other people’s feet as you do – relishing the chance to finally _sit_.

  
It takes you a moment to realise that the black fabric is not a seat cover but a jacket. The zip is cool against the skin of your underarm and the leather – real leather – is actually navy not black like you previously thought and you shuffle away a little so as not to crease it.

‘ _Ah fuck_.’ You cringe inwardly, a flush of hot shame settling over your body, ‘ _Oh, God, I hope it isn’t a rugby lad’s chair I’ve nicked. They’ll have me doing press-ups for two months as penance.’_

You lick your lips slightly, throat suddenly feeling dry from the muggy summer weather that Wales has been suffering from for the last few days. ‘ _I need a drink. A nice drink with some ice cubes and as much alcohol as they can fit into the glass.’_

You catch a bartender’s eye and she nods as you give her your order. She smells slightly of vanilla and the palm of her hand is cool as she presses a few pounds back into your hand and the iron tang of their imprint still lingers on your skin even after you slide them into your jeans pocket, the same one where your house keys reside, faintly jingling every time you walk.

You thank her throatily before taking a long sip of your drink.

You’re still slightly tense, your shoulders straight, and you make sure that you’re still far from the jacket as you can be for fear that someone will -

Tap you on the _shoulder_?

“That’s my jacket you’re sitting on, love.” The voice has a silvery, sing-song tinge of Welsh around the edges and you turn to face him a little, the chair creaking slightly.

“Sorry,” you blurt out, “I – I’ll move – I’m really – Look,” You breathe out for moment, trying to calm yourself, “I’ll move now.” You whisper, chagrined.

You turn around fully now and jacket man gives you a lopsided smile. His hazel eyes are glimmering in the low light and his cheeks are flushed. He runs a hand through his mussed hair and you take another sip of your drink to disguise the little squeak that you make.

“ _Oh_.” Is the only word that your brain helpfully supplies you with. You brush a piece of hair away from your face and give him a tiny flash of a smile.

“Oh, indeed.” The lad says, humouring you. The ever present smile is still clinging to his lips. “Honestly though, I’d really love my jacket ba-”

“Taz, you gonna be any longer? Tom wants to go to Yoko’s and I said that we’d go as well.” Another man’s voice – far more accented than jacket man’s own – cuts through your conversation.

Jacket man nods, turning slightly to stare at a beanpole of a man loitering in the doorway. Thick curly hair is nearly obscuring his sight and his face is creased in questioning. Jacket man – no, his friend said that his name was Taz – is resting his hand on the back of the chair, on top of his jacket, and he flashes his friend a withering glare.

“I’ll be there in now, in a minute, Iwan. I just need my jacket.” 

Iwan nods shortly, lips compressed into a line and eyebrows knit together in annoyance, “I’ll tell the other’s then. If we don’t see you in a few minutes then we’ll see you there then, mate.” He turns and leaves, footsteps clacking on the floor of the doorway.

  
Taz turns to you once more and raises an eyebrow – still with that suddenly infuriating smirk on his lips – fingers tapping on the leather.

“Of course. I’m so sorry again-” Your insides squirm and you hop off the chair, allowing the lad to get his jacket.

“It’s alright –“

“I’m sorry that –“

“No, really, I am t-” Your voices overlap.

Your cheeks are flushed and he refuses to look at you. Instead, his eyes are planted firmly on his feet, looking intently at the drops of alcohol that glisten on the floor. 

Relief courses through your system as the situation is finally resolved until somebody coughs behind you as though they are trying to get your attention.

‘ _Not again!_ ’ You huff, biting your lip so hard that you hope that you’ve drawn blood, lipstick be damned, as someone clamps a hand on both yours and Taz’s shoulders.

Taz’s body straightens with exasperation, body wound with tension, and you can feel the stormy look in his eyes as he faces the interloper on your conversation.

  
It’s a tall, barrel-chested, rugby lad, blonde hair plastered to his face and he is clad in a pencil skirt and peach coloured blouse. “Hey, del,” he addresses you first, slinging the arm that had been on your shoulder around your waist, drawing you closer, “Is your boyfriend that lad from that Kingsman movie?” His breath stinks of spirits and you crinkle your nose, trying to tug yourself out of his grip.

“I am, actually mate, yeah,” Taz seems pissed himself. His eyes are flinty and he is staring at the other lad with undisguised hatred. He shrugs off the rugby lad’s arm from his shoulder and his jaw is set in anger.

You send Taz a look, desperately trying to indicate to him not to do anything rash and try to shrug out of the rugby lad’s grip once more.

“It’s really good,” The rugby lad seems unaware of Taz’s anger but he does relent in his holding your waist giving you an apologetic glance as he does.

“We should go.” you cut in, sending a displeased look to Taz.

“We should.” You do not miss the mischievous twinkle that is present in his eyes, “C’mon, Sweetheart, let’s go. The other’s will be wondering where we are.”

A jolt of shock hits your body first followed by a look of impassivity that makes itself known on your face as you narrow your eyes at Taz in silent judgdment. 

‘ _The nerve!’_ Your body is shaking and you’re not sure if it’s from anger or from the cool wind that has suddenly circulated throughout the room, but you affix a rather forced smile on your face and send Taz a wink. He has the gall to return the gesture and he finally, finally gets his hands on his jacket, slinging it around-

‘ _Oh. Well-_ ’ your brain short circuits as he grabs your arm and tugs you out of the bar and into the night air.

You both walk quickly, heels and boots clacking on the cobbled street. You can smell the saline scent of the sea that is being carried by the soft breeze that is blowing intermittently, tousling your hair. The night sky has exploded with a bruise of colour as the sun paints its last trail along the horizon, purples, pinks, and soft peaches blending together as wisps of clouds smudge the vista and the squawks of seabirds fill the air. 

“Thought you might need that,” Taz says, “Sorry about that. I honestly am. That happens a lot these days.”

“Thanks.” You say, drawing the jacket tighter about you. The leather is buttery in texture, soft against your fingertips and smells faintly of cologne. You’re shivering slightly and Taz pulls you closer to him. “I’m sorry about sitting in your chair. I didn’t mean to. I thought it was empty.”

“No harm done, really. I should've got Iwan to sit in it really.” He says the last part more to himself than to you and you beam at him, grateful that he has been so understanding about the whole mishap.

He is leading you down a small street now, the lights above you are flickering on and off, like candles in the wind and you have to go single file on the pavement so you don’t walk into scaffolding that is erected there. His hand is on the small of your back, guiding you along and you can feel the warmth of his body deep into the jacket and then deep into your skin. 

“Well, you’ll know for next time,” you say airily, voice echoing about you, as you finally step out from under the scaffolding and turn to him. He regards you strangely for a moment, face crinkling into a frown before he laughs.

“I don’t make a habit of letting pretty girls sit in my empty chair, I can assure you,” His voice is teasing as he takes your arm once more, and you snort.

“I’m sure you don’t,” you say, exaggerating a roll of your eyes before you take a shuddering breath and say. “Thank you for helping me out back there,” your voice is deadly serious and Taz nods.

“You’re welcome,” His voice is a whisper, “It’s alright. I could tell that he was bothering you. That you were uncomfortable. I’m sorry that you were put in that position. I’m sorry that I made you get put in that position.” 

“Thank you,” you murmur, staring at him for a moment with an understanding, appreciative glance.

“Ah shit.” He says, suddenly coming back into himself and removing your hand from his arm so he can stroke the back of his neck in embarrassment, “I’m sorry. I’m taking you with me. I don’t even know your name and I’m taking you with me to Yoko’s.” You can see him cringe a littlem, biting at his lip until it bleeds a little and you laugh dryly as he sends you a look of apology.

“No harm done. My house isn’t too far from Yoko’s if I’m honest.”   
He cheers a little before he removes his hand from his neck and swings it at his side, a signal for you to take it once more. “I – Taz – can I call you Taz? - understand if you don’t want to come with me but I’d – well, after tonight I’d like to make it up to you. The jacket fiasco I mean.”

“You don’t have to.” he says. His eyes are wide and sparkling in the streetlights. “My mates and my mam all call me Taz but you can call me Taron, I guess. Unless you want to call me Taz?” His voice is husky and you grin.

“I could call you Lantern Jaw of Justice if you’d prefer.” you joke and he chuckles deeply, long and loud, and it makes your heart flutter for a moment. 

“Bit long for a nickname don’t you think?” He says once he’s sobered up and it is your turn to laugh at him for a few moments, and you cannot help but see the moonstruck look he sends your way.   
You bite your lip to stop laughing, shaking your head at him as he continues, “I think my agent might have something to say about that, Love. Can you imagine the - the... iesu mawr.”

“The uproar that your agent would have?” You ask, “Was that what you were trying to say?”

Taz flushes, trying to hide his shame with a tiny dimple-showing smile. “Um, kinda, yeah. Something like that anyways. Let’s just say that it’d be a helluva job to get it on a poster anyways.” 

He’s flustered that much is clear and you quirk your lips in a small smirk. The pair of you are silent for a few moments, the quiet a welcome reprieve as you make your way towards the cobbled pavement of the High Street. Seagulls screech overhead, high-pitched like old train whistles, rusty and discordant. Some are weaving through the air as their companions take watch on top of bins or search through discarded chip wrappers or kabab boxes in need of sustenance, beady yellow eyes glaring at you as you trespass through their territory.

“So.. uh, where’s your house?” Taz has turned away from you and is scanning the road up past the High Street, where both the bars and student flats are situated.   
Music is blasting out through some of the pubs, a mixture of current hits and old favourites, and their lights are bright and cheerful with students milling outside, some resting against walls or sitting on steps cigarettes and pints balanced precariously in their hands as they chat and bicker good-naturedly about the minutiae of life. You can just hear the faint roar of the sea, the ever-present tidal undercurrent of the whole town, and smell the grease of chip shops and the salinity of the air.

“Are you that anxious to be rid of me?” You enquire, adopting of look of faux-shock. 

Taz shakes his head vigorously, looking mortified. “I- I only meant-“

“I’m only joking.” You say, “It’s up past The Mill, near Rummer’s.”

It takes him a moment to search through his mental map of Aberystwyth. His eyes are darting about for a moment as he traces the path, etching a line on the whiteboard of his mind. “By the bridge that leads to Trefechan?” 

“That’s the one.”

“I’ve been - you’ve been... we’ve been going in circles this entire time.” He says, breaking into laughter. He hunches over, hands on his knees and laughs madly until there are tears running down his face. “I - Iesu Grist. I’m never drinking again.” He sobs out, body shaking with mirth. 

“I feel like I really do need to make up for this.” You say, pursing your lips. 

“I think you do.” Taz says, breathlessly, desperately trying to suck in air in between his laughter. His cheeks are red and there are unshed tears pooling in his eyes as he looks at you in a fondly exasperated way.

“Well, considering we’re nearly there anyways would you like to come in for a drink? It doesn’t have to be alcoholic, I have tea or coffee too.”

Taz nods. “Sounds great,” he says, swiping the tears from the corner of his eyes, “I admit I might snore though.”

“What makes you think you’re sleeping there, huh?” You say, nudging him with your arm, biting your lip to hide your smile.

“I’m a very good house guest I’ll have you know!” He says, face morphing into incredulity. He crosses his arms over his chest and tuts at you the way a mother would at a particularly naughty child. “I can clean up cups and everything!” 

“Amazing! A true housewife!” You say, grateful for the snipe of sarcasm that tumbles out of your mouth before you can stop it. 

Taz makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a huff of displeasure and you stick your tongue out at him in response before you walk on, grabbing your key from your pocket as you do.

“C’mon we’ll get inside and I’ll give you a drink and your jacket back - again,” you say, tugging at his arm wanting him to hurry.

“Are you that anxious for a drink?” He says, a glimmer in his eye. 

“Aren’t you anxious for your jacket back?” You say as you stare intently at every door you pass hoping that the next one will be yours.   
You’re fairly sure that the whole of Aberystwyth - well, maybe just the university - will be abuzz with the fact that you took home an actual Hollywood actor for a drink and the thought is enough to send your head spinning, as though somebody has just sent you flying as though you’re a rugby ball.

“I know where it is this time.” Taz says. There is a spark of humour in his eyes and you can tell by the deep ness of his voice that the next thing he says will make you blush. “It’s on the pretty girl in front of me that’s tugging my arm very insistently because she wants a drink.”

“You’ can talk. You were hell-bent I’m going to Yoko’s before!” you tease, grateful that he cannot see the Cheshire Cat like grin that stretches your mouth wide, or indeed how hot your cheeks are. “Oh, look here we are!” 

“Great.” Taz enthuses, “Finally, I can have my drink.” 

“You can have me too-“ you say without registering your words. 

Taron looks at you with a surprised expression. His eyebrows are drawn up into a scrunch that mars his brow and his hazel eyes sweep you over you, regarding you as though you are a mystery that he would very much like to uncover. 

“You wanna say that again, love? There is a teasing smile on his lips and you bite yours as anxiety floods your body.

“I - I meant-“ 

“Mmm hmm?”

“I meant that you can have that drink now.” You give him a self-assured nod but neither of you fail  
to notice the raspiness of your voice or the trembling of you hands as you reach for your keys, digging around your pockets for what seems for the longest amount of time - and oh lord, Taron’s gaze has become far more palpably burning, almost ardent - until you manage to fish them out and pop the key in the lock, twisting it until it gives that tell-tale click.  
You release the breath that neither of you release that you have been holding, and Taron gives you a smirk, lopsided and salacious, and there is a a hint of mischief in the depths of his hazel eyes, as you swing the door open and gesture him to go in first before you walk into the hallway and lock the door behind you. 

If, the next morning, he wakes up beside you, cocooned in covers and lovebites, with ruffled hair and kiss flushed lips, well, that’s something best left between the two of you rather than the whole of Aber, isn’t it?


End file.
